


Four Seasons

by mavy1



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, mostly fluff honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mavy1/pseuds/mavy1
Summary: Winter, SpringSummer, and FallFour seasonsFour lovesThe progression of Zuko and Sokka's relationship through their lives in 4 brief moments.





	1. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that winter was for lovers  
> 'cause when else is a body's warmth so warm?  
> Underneath my clothes your hands are freezing  
> But I dont say a word  
> 

The cupboard of Iroh’s tea shop seems always filled with curious things. Rows upon rows of attractive little silver and enamel tea tins, old tea pots ailed by leaky spouts or chipped handles, broken cups whose bone-white faces had been adorned with too loving a hand to let go of with grace, all gathering dust on their precarious perches on high shelves. A constant scent of jasmine hangs stale and smoky if the warm, dry air. Usually, these exist in blissful ignorance of the outside world, save the occasional visit from their proprietor. But today, they find themselves rather unexpectedly with guests, who seem perfectly unaware of the disdainful clinking of porcelain and gentle crashing of tin as they roll from the shelves that are their home, leaving behind crisp, clean rings in the otherwise ever-growing thick blanket of dust.

 

The cupboard is nearly too small to fit both boys, and certainly too small to fit a comfortable space between them. As it is, they find themselves with their backs pressed against shelving and plaster, though the discomfort of their accommodations barely registers with either, and space seems the least of their worries.

 

Winter has brought these visitors to Ba Sing Se, but two years of peace is what has made them reckless. Two years separation punctuated by longing glances - by stolen kisses concealed by shadows and under cover of silver moonlight - two years of long-winded letters barely disguising something yet unspoken, and a desire highly volatile for more than what could or couldn’t be said. It is little wonder they fell together so easily here amongst the other things that, though hidden away from view, are no less wonderful for it.

 

Wanting hands fist themselves in soft fabric, tangle in hair, pulling aside collars, exposing clean, cool skin. Sharing a kiss doesn’t feel so dangerous here, and they relish in the illusion of their solitude. Soft lips trail along pale skin, marking out a path along sharp jawline towards the offered curve of elegant neck, lingering only shortly to whisper ghosts of sweet sentiments that raise hairs on arms and send shivers down the length of spine which curves against ever-strengthening arms pulling them closer still, unaware or indifferent of the complete absence of space between them already.

 

For long, blissful minutes it can’t be said that a single thought is spared for anything other than the press of fingertips against hips, the gentle contact as legs tangle together, the way hot, ragged breath against skin only serves to make all else feel cold and distant. Soon, teeth scrape against shoulder and somewhat sloppy, open-mouthed kisses leave a path along delicate collarbone, the only thought to have more, to be closer. Carefully, slowly, hands slip beneath clothes, seeking warmth. But their cold touch against heated skin is sobering, like the deadly crack of a whip, shattering the moment and eliciting a gasp.

 

“Sokka.” The name catches slightly on the delivery, the pitch of leftover whine seeming more needy than intended.

 

“Zuko.” Sokka breathes warm and wet against open skin, making no attempt to disguise the desire he still believes to be mutual as his fingers trace up the dip of Zuko’s spine.

 

Zuko has just enough restraint to plant his palm firmly against Sokka’s chest, pushing him away as best he can in such close quarters. “No – Sokka… no” he whispers. Sokka, for his part, takes the hint easily, withdrawing his hands so quickly they might never have been there, had their absence not left a chill even deeper than their own somehow.

 

“Sorry -Sorry, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head slightly, seeming to clear it of whatever fervent thoughts had gathered there, a chagrined smile painting his cheeks a rosy hue. “I guess I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

 

He leans in close again with the more innocent intent of placing a chaste kiss on Zuko’s cheek – too late. Whatever spell had captured Zuko in the moment was gone – and Zuko wished to be too.

 

“I – I can’t. I’m sorry. We can’t – I just – I’m not –“ In his haste to escape he manages to scatter swaths of curious curios to the floor with a tremendous crash, which roll across the hall that he stumbles back into, nearly tripping over himself on his way. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

 

And then he’s gone. Leaving Sokka blinking in the sudden light, looking quite disheveled and certainly no less confused.

 

The pounding of his heart matches the pounding of his feet as Zuko rushes down the hall, the heat on his skin feeling like a burn he can’t find relief from. He stumbles into the courtyard, the cold winter air tightening his chest as he inhales deeply, bracing himself against the colourful wooden columns that circle the shop.

 

The high, mossy walls that enclose the garden hide Iroh’s little oasis from the rest of the world, and Zuko realizes, for the first time in a long time, he is really and truly alone. No one had pursued him, and no one would. He realizes with some annoyance that for once, this is the exact opposite of what he really _wants._

 

Eventually he begins to wander the narrow garden paths, kicking at the loose stones that liter the walk with rabid ferocity, though their gentle clattering offers no satisfaction as they roll beneath lush greenery. His mind feels hazy, a weariness sinking through his skin deep into his bones in melodic accompaniment of the frosty air.  He’s tired. Tired of hiding – of pretending. Tired of being afraid of what might happen if -

 

 _Spirits_ is he tired _._

 

But for Zuko, it seems, there is no reprieve. Caught between that proverbial rock and a hard place and cursing himself for not being born a _fucking_ earthbender.

 

He throws himself unceremoniously down on a chair beneath the cover of an old gazebo, the worn wood protesting slightly at the mistreatment. Leaning his weight on the accompanying table, head pillowed against his forearm, he traces the delicately painted patterns on its face with the tips of his fingers, the colourful filigree wearing slowly away under the harsh power of the elements, even sheltered here as it is. And who could blame it.

 

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, wallowing in his own self-pity, mind refusing to form any half-coherent thoughts other than what can only be summed up as a deeply aching woe-is-me, and a dull resentment of the fact that, even with, and indeed because of, all the great power he supposedly possesses as fire lord the word still seems so grossly unfair. When he finally looks up, the grey winter sky is washed a pale yellow, and darkness is beginning to fall. He thinks perhaps he should light the garden lanterns, but it seems pointless if he’s just going to be sitting out here alone anyways.

 

 Perhaps it was minutes, or hours he had been alone, but while staring off into the muted sunset glow he is alerted to someone’s approach by a noisy scuffing of stones and heavy footfalls that to Zuko mean only one thing.

 

“Zuko, hey.” Sokka’s voice rings out through the courtyard just a little too loud. “The others sent me to find you. You’ve been gone kind of a while.”

 

He plops himself down across from Zuko. With his arms crossed on the table, chin rested against them, Zuko looks up at him, reading Sokka’s discomfort plainly in his averted gaze, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, the other drumming nervously against the table as he chews at his bottom lip.

 

“Look Zuko, I – I’m really sorry. I should never have – I know I crossed a line and I can’t take that back but  –“

 

“Sokka, don’t. You have nothing to apologise for. I just…” Zuko trails off, and the two are quiet for a time, looking anywhere but at each other.

 

“Well…” Sokka begins hesitantly, voice quiet and gentle. “If it’s not me… then what is it? Please, Zuko, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

 

Zuko’s eyes dart around nervously, searching franticly for anything else to focus on – to escape with. But it’s inevitable, when his eyes finally do meet Sokka’s, and really, if he were being honest, as hard as it is, he wants to tell him.

 

“I’m scared Sokka.” The admission tears at his chest the way nothing ever has, and leaves a bitter taste in Zuko’s mouth. “My people… they used to be tolerant – accepting. But my great-grandfather ruined that, just like he ruined so many other things, and I don’t know if…”

 

“You’re worried what might happen to you if they find out about – about… _us_.” Sokka stutters out the last few words, his voice hardly above a whisper.

 

“No, Sokka.” Zuko fights against the rising tide of tears in his eyes, pushing against the pain at the back of his throat. Now that he’s started, he has to see this through. “I’m worried about what might happen to you.”

 

Sokka’s eyes shine watery, his lip trembling ever so slightly and breath shaky, but he doesn’t look away, or interrupt.

 

“It’s not just that you’re… that we’re both…” Zuko sighs, a forlorn and defeated sound. “But – you’re water tribe. And you’re not royalty. You know I don’t care about any of that but I – I’m not strong enough – I’m not _brave_ enough to…” Zuko can only gesture broadly, unable to put into words exactly how devastating this could all be for him. He stands to lose Sokka either way, really, but if it comes down to risking his own happiness, or Sokka’s safety – there’s no contest. There never would be.

 

He hangs his head low, forehead resting in his hand, defeated. Now that Sokka knows, he doubts very much that he’ll stick around. Not that what they had, if there really was anything to begin with, could have continued anyways.

 

Silence overtakes the garden once more, and at any moment, Zuko knows, Sokka will leave, and not return. But moments drag into long minutes, and still he remains. Zuko can’t help himself but take the opportunity to steal one last look at him.

 

And Sokka-

 

Sokka’s looking down at him with far more warmth than the setting sun. His eyes still shine a little watery, his brow knit with affection and just a touch of exasperation, he smiles a little, simply, fondly. It’s a look Zuko knows all too well, and one he thinks to his great pleasure is reserved just for him. It tells him instantly just how stupid Sokka thinks he’s being. And not only that, but that Sokka’s had the answer all along.

 

“Zuko…” he huffs out a laugh, soft and warm, shaking his head. He leans forward slightly, closing the distance between them to just a whisper apart. Zuko’s reeling mind grasps for something tangible to hold on to, eventually settling on the way the dying winter sunlight lights the curves of Sokka’s body, his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, with a warm golden glow that matches the softness of Sokka’s bared heart.

 

“I could be brave.” He murmurs. “If you would only ask me to. And, I could be strong. Enough for both of us.”

 

Zuko would try to argue. He really would. But the way Sokka was looking at him, gentle and adoring, his affection plain in those marvellous blue eyes, the thought doesn’t even occur to him.

 

After all, he’s right. Zuko is sure he’s met very few people as brave as he knows Sokka is. And that Sokka is more than willing to risk whatever he has for the people he cares about. It only surprises him that he is one of those people to Sokka.

 

But.

 

Why not?

 

Why not try? They had risked their freedom and their lives together, faced war and death. Why not life? How could whatever happened next be worse than what they had already been through? And if it was, well – Sokka would be there. Strong, loyal, brave as always. Really, Zuko could only marvel at his own blindness, at his stupidity for not realizing it sooner.

 

Zuko’s eyes begin to wander, eventually settling on Sokka’s outstretched hands, resting on the table mere inches from his own. His heartbeat seems to pause as he reaches out. He threads their fingers together, focusing on soft skin and strong hands, rather than the pounding of blood in his ears that has returned full force.

 

“Zuko?” Sokka chirps in delighted surprise.

 

“Your hands were cold.” Zuko supplies simply.

 

Sokka hums warmly in response, closing his hands more tightly around Zuko’s, brushing his knuckles gently with his thumbs.

 

They can scarcely stand more than quick glances at each other, and when their eyes do meet, it brings a warm blush to Zuko’s cheeks he hasn’t felt in Sokka’s presence in quite some time. They sit huddled close, the warm contact of their skin welcome and grounding as they let the sky turn pink, then lilac, then deep blue as the sun’s last rays waste away without fanfare.

 

The wind picks up, and a shiver races up Zuko’s spine, reminding him of where he is. As pleasant as this is, he reminds himself he hadn’t come to the earth kingdom just for Sokka.

 

“I should probably go. If uncle sent you to find me, he must have been getting desperate,” he teases, pulling his hands free with profuse reluctance and rising stiffly to his feet.

 

“Right.” Is all the normally chatty Sokka can supply, looking a little wind-swept and dazed as he leans back in his chair.

 

Zuko turns to leave, but his feet stubbornly refuse to move, finding his business here quite unfinished.

 

“Would you come and visit me? In the fire nation I mean. Soon?” He blurts.

 

Sokka smiles.

 

“I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So!
> 
> First off, you should go listen to [Seasons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=allpSRzVzwg) by Said the Whale, since it is in part what inspired my to write this, and it is really great.
> 
> Second, don't worry too much about the angsty worrying parts of this chapter, what I have planned for the rest is truly tooth-rottingly sweet, but I figured for winter I'd start off with something a little less so.
> 
> And last, thanks for reading!! Feel free to let me know your thoughts, I always appreciate feedback and comments. Hope to have you updated soon!


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But maybe its the spring that is for lovers  
> 'cause that is when the world comes out in bloom  
> In the light of all the lengthening days,  
> that still end too soon.

“Come on Zuko!”

 

Sokka has a lose hold on Zuko’s wrist, his arm stretched out slightly behind him as he leads the other boy along crowded streets. They weave their way through throngs of people, and though they occasionally brush shoulders and elbows with the surrounding strangers, Sokka’s mind is fixed on the feeling of soft skin beneath his touch, and the steady heartbeat he can feel there. He’s in no rush, not really anyways, but part of him can’t help but wish Zuko was always just a little bit closer, and he can’t seem to stop himself from crying out for it.

 

He longs to lace their fingers together, to run his thumb along the ridges and valleys of Zuko’s knuckles, to wrap an arm around his waist just to feel the heat that seeps through the soft fabric of his shirt. But he knows for Zuko, even one stranger there to witness is too many, and here in the marketplace are far more than that. So, he refrains.

 

Luckily, for the most part, the two go by relatively unnoticed, or at least unacknowledged. Dressed fairly casually, the young fire lord almost blends in with the crowd, and though Sokka’s pale blue attire and warm brown skin may stand out like a sore thumb in a sea of red and gold, he has become somewhat of a fixture in the market as of late, and draws little more than a passing glance.

 

The market in the palace city is like nothing Sokka had ever seen before. In his travels, he had been all across the four nations, from his own tiny village to the pristine streets of Ba Sing Se’s inter ring and back again, but as far as he was concerned, the fire nation’s capitol city was nearly unrivalled in its beauty. It certainly contained some of the most beautiful things he ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, though he would never admit that out loud.

 

Fragrant smoke fills the air with spices Sokka can’t name, effectively peddling their concoctors’ wares as his mouth begins to water. Buckets of ice hold fat, glistening fish, whole, steaked, or filleted. Their captors sell them to mothers, fathers, and chefs direct, or slice off portions with gleaming knives to prepare upon request. Strange red and purple fruits and towers of savoury and sweet spices add to the heavenly aroma that wraps itself around Sokka distractingly, drawing him away.

 

Zuko looks on fondly as Sokka helps himself to sticky sweet rolls, sizzling kebabs, crispy rice cakes, and fresh sushi, which, Zuko notes with interest, has been prepared specifically and specially for him just before his arrival, always leaving with a generous tip and an even more generous smile.

 

They stroll lazily down the long rows of little tents who’s white canvas tops shelter them from the full strength of the late spring sun while Sokka examines porcelain and pottery, complimenting their makers on their fine quality. He toys with fans of various type, wondering aloud which of them Suki might be able to employ to kick his butt in battle, though honestly, he knows it probably wouldn’t matter – she could do it with any. He spends far too much time marvelling over the finely crafted, razor-sharp blades of several local swordsmiths, despite the confidence that he’ll never find any to rival his own, knowledge that brings him far more pride than disappointment.

 

The vendors seem to adore Sokka. And why wouldn’t they? After all, he is quite good for business.

 

 It’s more than that though. When he asks about their families, by name, their toothy smiles and enthusiastic responses suggest a more intimate relationship than simply customer and seller. They laugh at his jokes, shake his hand, clap him on the shoulder, jest and tease and haggle. And when Sokka introduces Zuko, though they bow formally, he hardly feels out of place, made familiar by his evident closeness to Sokka.

 

Zuko, unlike Sokka, doesn’t visit the market often. Convincing the royal guard to let him out of their sight just never seemed worth the trouble to spend his time loitering awkwardly amongst the crowd. But Sokka had practically begged him to join him today, though the puppy-dog eyes he had employed were hardly necessary – he knew Zuko would do just about anything to please him.

 

For his part, Zuko mostly watches, following along a few steps behind, adding in his two cents when Sokka asks his opinion. Sokka would worry he was bored, but the contented smile that touches his lips and charming golden glow of his eyes never falter, and Sokka knows he finds a kind of enjoyment in observation.

 

It’s comfortable here, where the busy lives of the townspeople shroud them in near anonymity.

 

Soon they find themselves in a quieter corner of the market, where the previously loud droning of voices dims to a quiet hum, and Sokka’s eye is drawn by a tantalizing row of vibrant red he has never seen before. Upon closer inspection, he finds the little stand holds brilliant bundles of brightly coloured flowers. Many are exotic and foreign to him, but the red that had originally caught his attention tints the delicate petals of something more familiar.

 

“You have a good eye young man.” The vendor says. “Those flowers where hand picked by yours truly. Just this morning in fact.”

 

“Fire lilies.” Sokka murmurs, transfixed. “I’ve seen them before, but never ones like these.”

 

He extends his hand gingerly, brushing the tips of their large petals ever so gently, finding a satisfying buttery softness beneath his fingers to accompany the rich colour. “They’re wonderful.”

 

“I’ve always found the lilies that bloom in spring to be the most beautiful.” Zuko agrees readily, though he looks not at the flowers, but at Sokka’s awestruck face as he does.

 

“If you like them so much, why don’t you get one?”

 

Sokka chuckles. “Oh Zuko, if I bought everything I liked whenever I saw it, I wouldn’t have a penny to my name.” He hesitates only a moment before dropping his hand to his side again and turning to leave.

 

Zuko, however, can’t bear to watch Sokka’s face lose that exquisite glow. Plucking a single thin stemmed bloom from it’s perch, he quickly deposits what must be far more than it is worth in the elderly vendor’s hand, wrapping Sokka’s hand in his own, pulling him in close – close enough to count the freckles on his sun-kissed skin,  presenting him with the flawless offering.

 

“Zuko, I couldn’t –“

 

“What,” he insists, “is the point of being the all-powerful fire lord, if I can’t use it to give you everything your charming heart desires.”

 

While his tone is light-hearted and teasing, such an easy display of affection sets Sokka’s heart racing. He takes the offered token of Zuko’s care, lifting it to his nose and breathing deeply. The scent he finds is lush with earthy sweetness, undercut by the subtle spice that permeates the vary air of the land that Sokka is beginning to learn to call home. He hums deeply, a sound he barely meant to make, a rumble at the back of his throat from deep within him.

 

Zuko almost giggles at the sight. “Here, allow me.”

 

Sokka watches, spellbound, as Zuko removes a single long, golden pin with nimble fingers from the sleek bun where his crown sits, using it to secure his gift to the lapel of Sokka’s shirt. Its absence looses a few stray pieces of silken black hair, which fall softly around his face, framing his golden eyes wonderfully, brushing the corners of his mouth as his lips pull into a warm smile.

 

Sokka just can’t help himself.

 

Feeling his heart drumming distinctly against his ribs, he reaches out trembling fingers, brushing the velvet soft strands slowly and gently behind Zuko’s ear, allowing a brief pause as his fingers graze the soft skin of his neck.

 

If they were anywhere else. _Spirits_ , if they were anywhere else.

 

But they aren’t. They’re here, now, and Sokka knows he can’t let himself get carried away. He shifts his weight back, taking one small step away.

 

Zuko catches him by the waist before he can get far. He pulls him in until they are flush together, close enough now that Sokka can see the brilliant flecks of pure sunlight in Zuko’s eyes. Their noses brush gently as Zuko pauses, his breath warm and shallow against Sokka’s lips. Then, he leans forward, closing that final distance.

 

The kiss is simple. Soft, sweet, but utterly reverent. Sokka surrenders himself to it, melting beneath Zuko’s touch, feeling the rush of surprise ebb and give way to a tingling warmth that sits just beneath his skin and races through his veins like wildfire. His fingers curl into the folds of Zuko’s shirt, his hands pressing firmly against the muscles of Zuko’s back, drawing them closer, aching to extend the moment in perpetuity.

 

Slowly, Zuko draws back, sharing a lovesick glance and bashful but wide smile with Sokka, who feels he must be blushing a similar crimson hue to that of the flower he wears proudly on his chest.

 

“Excuse me your majesty,” the vendor interjects delicately, “Your change?” He extends a hand full of little gleaming coins across the counter separating them.

 

A bubble of nervous laughter escapes Zuko’s lips as he addresses the man. “Keep the change, please.” The man nods his thanks, smiling slightly, moving away to leave the two boys alone once more, breath falling heavy between them in the warm air.

 

And the gentle hum of distant conversation still fills the air. The faint spring sun still filters through the gaps between the guarding canvas overhangs, forming an elegant golden patchwork on the hard, baked ground. The world hasn’t lost a bit of its turn, and indeed things only seem closer, more intense and dazzling.

 

Zuko’s hands sit comfortably on Sokka’s hips, and Sokka knows he could very easily be persuaded to live in this moment forever. To let the warmth of Zuko’s touch that seeps into his skin sustain him through all the coming winters, to feed hungrily on the shining gaze that rakes him over again and again as though he where tending a field, to build his own religion on the pout of his lips that comes in tandem with his subdued smile, to drink in the sight and the sounds, and the sweet honeyed scent that lingers between them as if parched by the desert sun.

 

He buries his face against Zuko’s neck before he becomes too endlessly lost, sighing contented, sighing relieved, and Zuko chuckles quietly, a warm sound from deep within.

 

Sokka lets his touch roam the skin of Zuko’s arms leisurely, feeling the strength and surety there, taking one of his hands in his own, lacing their fingers together as he had so longed to do. With a gentle tug, he leads them away together, testing his own bravery as much as anything, but completely and utterly certain that every second, every inch of space they share, is wholly and entirely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most beautiful thing Sokka has ever seen is Zuko. That's how he knows it's in the fire nation.  
> Also apparently I have a thing for Zuko giving Sokka flowers? Since I've already written about it once? But whatever I do what I want!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know you thoughts! Thank you so much for reading!!


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now I'm thinking summer is for lovers  
> 'cause when else will we find the time to leave  
> lay out in a field and watch out love growing  
> and swaying in the breeze

A low, rumbling, rushing sound swells and fades as the wind drives jewel-blue waters against the gentle slope of the adjacent pristine white sand, to be caught and tumble headlong into white foam against the shoreface, filling the air with a fine, cool mist that settles into a salty film on surrounding scrubby brushes and tall grass which sway slightly in the gentle mid-morning breeze.

 

The breeze plays melodious against Sokka’s skin, harmonizing perfectly with the soft eddies traced into his back by Zuko’s gentle touch. Curled into Zuko’s side, his head pillowed against his chest, arm slung over his waist, he can’t quite tell if it’s the sun that warms him so, or if it comes from some place a little closer to home.

 

“Sokka.” The pad of Zuko’s thumb brushes against Sokka’s cheek, and he hums quietly. “ _Sokka_. Hey, you’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

 

His eyes had fallen shut a few moments ago, and he hadn’t exactly fought the battle to the end. While Zuko’s voice rouses him slightly, he makes no effort to open them again now.

 

“Mmf.” He huffs against Zuko’s bare chest. “So, what if I am? We’re on vacation, aren’t we?” Stretching out his legs, his toes dig into the fine soft sand that presses up against and sticks to his side. He wraps his arms more tightly around Zuko, arcing his back slightly to plaster himself against his body.

 

Zuko hums thoughtfully, toying with the lose strands of Sokka’s unkempt hair as he does so, and Sokka can here the smile that touches his lips. “I suppose so. But you might not be so pleased with that decision when the tide comes in, love.”

 

Sokka pushes himself to lay flat against Zuko’s chest, cracking one eye open ever so slightly to find that treasured smile, digging into it with a soft kiss before nestling his head in the crook of Zuko’s neck once more.

 

“Don’t worry babe. I won’t let the ocean take you from me.”

 

Zuko laughs at the playfulness, the sound warm and close in Sokka’s ear, vibrating deep in his chest still pressed against his partner.

 

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Zuko chuckles, his breath ruffling the hair that falls against Sokka’s temple.

 

Sokka opens his eyes just to roll them. He _is_ a water tribe warrior after all – how dare someone suggest he need protecting from the _ocean_ of all things. But he’s always loved Zuko’s smile, especially being as rare as it is, and it doesn’t really matter that the joke was at his expense – he can’t help but return it.

 

The sun shrouds Zuko’s face in hazy shadow, but to Sokka he glows all the same, haloed by a honeyed radiance, hair turned to liquid sunlight, that quirk of his lips worth more than any amount of gold, except, perhaps, his golden eyes, filled with adoration and crinkled at the corners with gladness. In truth, he has not managed to escape the subtle signs that they are growing older, but Sokka finds shear delight in those beloved smile lines, knowing he helped put them there, and having no doubt that he has the sole and distinct pleasure of bearing witness to every wrinkle, every ache and ailment, every blurry-eyed, bead-headed sleepy morning, and a countless number of these wonderful, precious smiles.

 

Sokka lays with his arms crossed over Zuko’s chest, chin resting against his forearms, and simply looks. He looks, and he looks. He _stares_ as if the simple sight of the smiling face of his husband were the most incredible, indulgent delight he could ever hope to conjure, even in his wildest dreams - and indeed it is. Zuko brushes the hair from Sokka’s face over his ear with a slow, deliberate hand, and Sokka leans greedily into his touch, letting a low, satisfied hum escape his lips, eyes drifting nearly shut once more.

 

“I love seeing you like this.” Zuko murmurs.

 

“Like what?” Sokka sighs in response.

 

“Happy.”

 

With a sudden jerk, Sokka sits up. “I’m always happy!” He whines indignantly.

 

Zuko merely snorts, fixing him with a knowing and nearly judgemental look, clearly remembering the many times over the years Sokka had been with him in the fire nation where Sokka, vocal as always, had made it perfectly clear just how very _unhappy_ he was with whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it, to whoever might listen. With good reason, usually, but Sokka was a practiced complainer, and could find something to protest in just about anything, if he really wanted to.

 

“I think the word you are looking for here is content. I’m not always _content_ with the way things are, _true_ ,” he admits, though somewhat reluctantly. “But I am happy. How could I not be?”

 

Leaning forward, Sokka kisses Zuko’s chin playfully, but his words are said in earnest. In truth he could never have imagined this future for them. He wouldn’t dare. That they could be together, and happy, seemed impossible at the beginning. Yet here they were, vacationing with their own family on the very island that held Zuko’s best – and perhaps some of his only truly good – childhood memories, enjoying a rare moment of solitude and leisure.

 

Sokka meets Zuko’s fond gaze directly, softening further, melting into Zuko’s embrace, speaking softly, amorously.

 

“My father used to tell me,” he begins quietly, words meant only for one, kept from the clutches of the greedy wind,  “only when I was an old man would I know what it really meant, to be truly happy, because only then would I be able to look back and recognize it.”

 

Sokka traces the tips of his fingers along the line of Zuko’s shoulder, his collar, over his chest and along the ridges and valleys of his body, his gaze trailing along behind, caught by the enticing curve of his throat and subtle pink of his lips. He flashes a small, coy smile, leaning in close, his whispered words falling softly against Zuko’s lips.

 

“But if all it takes to be old is to know happiness, then I am surely ancient.”

 

For a moment, Zuko stares transfixed into Sokka’s eyes, breath caught between them and aching in his chest, before breaking into an exasperated chuckle, rolling his eyes only slightly as he pulls him close and presses a fervent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

“You big _sap_.” He groans. Sokka can only laugh, settling his head once more against Zuko’s chest.

 

They’re quiet for a time, Sokka reveling in the warmth of Zuko’s hand as it draws along the curve of his spine slowly, back and forth like the wash of the nearby waves.

 

Sokka lets his own touch wander Zuko’s soft skin, heedless of direction or purpose, focus only on the gentle rise and fall of Zuko’s chest beneath his cheek. His fingers find the gnarled, pinkened skin that marks definitively the thin line between losing this future and living it, and he traces the twists of the old scar delicately. While he thinks about the war less and less with each passing year, the cuts it left behind will ensure he’ll never be able to forget completely. Like the scars, though his nightmares fade and lose their clarity with time, they will never truly disappear. In an odd way, he is disgustingly, selfishly grateful for the physical marks left behind; they lend credibility to his increasingly indistinct and unintelligible dreams, which he wakes from them in the night, slick with sweat and gasping with terror, ever grateful for their grounding presence.

 

“ _Sokka._ Hey, you still with me?” Zuko murmurs, pulling Sokka from his thoughts once again.

 

A deep breath brings Sokka back to the moment – _this_ moment – safe and simple and perfect. Shifting slightly, he kisses Zuko’s chest slow and tender, his own chest aching as he savours the gentle beating of his heart beneath his lips. As he looks up, Zuko meets him with shining eyes, sorrow and pain mixed with reverence and joy in bittersweet understanding. Sokka moves to press his brow against Zuko’s, whose fingers ghost across his cheek and into his hair. For an instant, they are almost one, sharing the same breath, the same space, the same heart. When Sokka pulls back, it is not without some reluctance, though he offers a smile true and beautiful. He allows his gaze to roam the plains of Zuko’s face, admiring the cut of his jaw, the slope of his cheeks, the pout of his lips in a way he’s done innumerable times, and he prays he will be so lucky to do an uncountable number more.

 

Zuko returns the attention readily. Though his cheeks flush slightly under Sokka’s intense stare, he doesn’t hesitate to meet it. His thumb traces a path along Sokka’s cheekbone, his lower lip caught delicately, invitingly between his teeth, just begging to be released from its restraints with a kiss only Sokka could manage. And Sokka leans in again, intent on completing this jail break, only the second most important of his life.

 

A high-pitched squeal from just off the water startles them both, and Zuko’s forehead collides hard with Sokka’s as he scrambles to rise. Sokka rolls to the ground in dramatic fashion, clutching his head.

 

“Ugh - Zuko, _ow_!” He groans, significantly louder than necessary.

 

Zuko is stumbling to his feet, his eyes darting to the shoreline and back to Sokka, looking a little guilty and a lot worried, scattering swaths of sand in his haste.

 

“Sorry – sorry, I just-“

 

“Hey calm down, alright?” Sokka croons soothingly, dropping his feigned annoyance near instantly when he realizes Zuko’s distress. “She’s fine, she’s with Katara. She couldn’t be safer.”

 

“I know, I know, but I – “

 

“Just.” He sighs, but it’s calm and good natured as he extends a hand. “Help me up, would you?”

 

He searches the beach for the source of the sound, quickly locating the tell-tale head of black hair, which sticks out in short tufts from its attempted pigtail containment.

 

Zuko strains against Sokka’s hand, which holds firm as they make their way towards the little girl. Though Sokka understands Zuko’s worry, he occasionally finds his husband to be a touch over-protective, and knows that their panic could only make the situation worse. So, as much as he wants otherwise, he tries his best to stay calm.

 

The girl is seated on the sand, a few feet from the closest wash of the waves, her knees tucked tight to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, holding them close, head bowed. Katara stands close, speaking softly, reassuringly, but she has her eyes closed and her ears deaf to the words.

 

Sokka lets out a small sigh of relief upon realizing she’s safe, though he should have known it all along, if he had believed his own words. But her distress is obvious, and his worry not completely eased.

 

“Izumi, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Zuko asks gently, but she only keeps her eyes squeezed tightly shut, shaking her head vigorously, her little pigtails bouncing violently.

 

Sokka shoots Katara a look, raising an eyebrow not quite accusingly, and she crosses her arms a bit defensively.

 

“I can’t get her to go in the water Sokka. It doesn’t matter what I try, she’s just too afraid! I thought, since she loves my waterbending she’d like this too, but I guess I was wrong.”  He can tell she feels guilty. She had begged them to let her spend the afternoon alone with her niece, and now the girl was nearly in tears. Sokka doesn’t blame her though.

 

He sits himself down slowly beside his young daughter, close enough that their arms brush together, but doesn’t try to do more than that, letting her have whatever space she needs. Zuko hovers near, but not too close, letting Sokka take the lead.

 

“Hey little fire lily,” he croons, “I heard the ocean’s been a bit much for you. A bit frightened, are we?”

 

Izumi turns to her father, pressing her forehead against his arm, wrapping hers around it tightly.

 

“I’m sorry, daddy, I’m sorry!” She cries, the immanent gathering of tears apparent in her voice.

 

“Hey, sweet pea, hey, it’s alright,” Sokka murmurs.

 

“It’s okay to be scared sometimes.” He assures, smoothing a few stray hairs from her face and laying his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “The ocean, it’s big, and it’s cold, and it’s loud and yeah, that’s scary. But you know what? We might live in the fire nation, but you’re just as much water tribe as anything. And for those of us in the water tribe, the ocean is like a part of our family. And our family will always take care of us. I always look out for you, don’t I?”

 

 Izumi nods slightly, and Sokka spies a tiny smile creeping its way onto her face when she looks at him.

 

“So how about this. We can do it together, alright?” He holds out his hand for her, to take or leave as she will, supportive but not demanding.

 

She hesitates for only a moment, glancing up at Zuko for reassurance, finding a smile, kind and warm, of the type he reserves only for her, so soft does it make him appear that none other than his beloved daughter could coax it to the surface, and she returns it.

 

“Okay.” She slips her little hand into Sokka’s, who helps her to her feet before scooping her up, rocketing her high over his head, finally drawing a laugh and a wide, joyful smile.

 

“That’s my brave little warrior.” He praises.

 

He settles her on his hip, supporting her with one arm as she wraps hers around his neck, holding him tightly. In his other hand, Sokka holds Zuko’s. They share a brief look, Sokka reading warmth and admiration in that moment. He places a soft kiss of Zuko’s temple, then leads their little family out into the waiting embrace of the welcoming surf, whose waters are found to be gentler, and warmer, and much more pleasant than any little girl could have dared hope. At least, they seem so when the love your family shares is so apparent, a family you now know these gentle waves to be a part of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this, I had intended to post a new chapter every week, but what with moving to an entirely new country and starting an internship and all, things kind of got away from me.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	4. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But could it be the fall that is for lovers  
> 'cause that is when the leavs get tired of being  
> green and then they turn into others  
> that are very rarely seen  
> That are very rarely seen

It’s not quiet on the docks. Not in the way quiet can generally be thought of. The clanking of metal against metal as ships dock for the night, the pounding of feet against wood and steel, voices raised to be heard over the resulting din, jovial in their own right, speaking of warm hearths and the hazy glow of a spirit-softened night in port. No, it’s not quiet, but a sort of calm and stillness that comes with the so anticipated end to a long, hard workday permeates the salty sea air, as if the entire harbour were holding its breath, watching the nighttime come.

 

Such an atmosphere of charged anticipation takes no notice of a single hooded figure, clad in regal red but proceeded by no pageantry, slipping silently from his ship into the waiting arms of the eager dusk. He, too, can feel the tension of the wanting night.

 

He strolls easily down the cobbled streets which ebb and flow with people as they make their way to their families, both of blood and of choice. In homes, gardens, and eateries from the shabby to the pristine, weary workers shake off the day in pleasant company.

 

The centre of the city, not far from port and quickly reached on swift foot is a bustling hub of activity, though not of the type it is more used to under the steady watch of sunlight. Younger buildings dwarf their older neighbours, their upper floors mostly darkened in the absence of their daytime occupants. Here and there the golden glow of a singular lantern may be seen, signaling the unwavering commitment of its owner to their duties, but it seems most everyone has retired to their leisure, packing into the old, favoured dive bars still strongholded in the more historic of structures.

 

At the far end of a large square populated by only a few straggling workers, imposing white walls crisply outlined against the encroaching darkness extend what must be several stories into the sky, caped by an emerald dome and decorated with golden flourishes. It’s a grand display of the harmonious mingling of cultures so prevalent in the ever-growing city, and certainly the finest example of its style.

 

Its massive, intricately carved and carefully painted front doors stand ajar, an open invitation to any and all who wish to partake in or observe the local governance in its day to day operation. But the impressive foyer is by now long abandoned, and the red and gold figure makes his way unobstructed across the vast expanse of white marble, footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet enormity of open air.

 

Several flights of stairs and long, half-darkened hallways terminate in a small, outer office, decorated by a few worn chairs and a large wooden desk, upon which sit a few small but well-loved potted plants, and at which is seated a woman in her early thirties. Her attire is stylish but formal, her hair only a touch disheveled after her long day, freeing itself from her loose topknot and falling in wisps about her face. Several scrolls neatly rolled and tied sit adjacent to where she writes diligently. So engrossed in her work is she, she does not notice her visitor, nor hear the friendly, if somewhat stiff, greeting he offers her as he enters.

 

“…Is he in there?”

 

She starts at the sound of a voice from just next to her, tipping an ink pot onto her desk, which she scrambles to wipe up. She doesn’t look up as she hastily replies, “yes, but I’m sorry, councilman Sokka is seeing no one tonight.”

 

He pulls back the hood that had been shielding him from the slight chill of the autumn evening, revealing a scarred visage softened by a small, sympathetic smile. “Burning the midnight oil again, is he?” It’s a phrase he’d often heard used by the man he spoke of, frequently in reference to himself no less, and one he had subsequently picked up, and grown rather fond of.

 

“Oh, your majesty!” She chirps, cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you!”

 

“That’s quite alright.” He assures, waving his hand slightly to dispel her concern. He wonders, briefly, if he should stay and try to help her tidy the mess he feels rather guilty over helping create. After a moment, though, he realizes she would never allow it, and instead gestures broadly at the closed door behind her desk.  “May I?”

 

“Of course, go right ahead.”

 

Pushing open the door, he finds himself faced with a sight entirely too familiar, though no less exasperating. The office is spacious, but rather cramped by tall cabinets, a table and chairs, and an enormous desk. Various cabinet drawers have been left askew, marking half-finished tasks and abandoned thoughts, and every free surface even vaguely resembling horizontal has been covered with mountains of scrolls, stacks of loose paper, piles of pens, and towers of multi-coloured ink. The walls are adorned with maps of all scales and ages, some of which have been drawn upon for emphasis or planning, and a large calendar just beside the door denotes far too many events and responsibilities in harsh red ink.

 

Behind the desk the office’s sole occupant is hunched, squinting quizzically at various official documents from behind golden wire-rimmed glasses, turning occasionally to franticly jot notes of his own on blank scrolls or mark something on a nearby blackboard.

 

The opening of the door and subsequent company catches his attention, but he spares only a fleeting glace for it, and likely makes out little more than a vague figure through the distortion of his thick lenses.  

 

“I thought I told Ms. Kim that I wasn’t taking visitors today.” The query is not unfriendly. Apparently, to him it seems entirely possible he simply forgot to include this critical instruction to his dutiful secretary.

 

“You did, dearest.” His visitor closes the door behind him softly, leaning against it with the cool surety of an honored guest, and smirks. “But, fortunately for you, I’ve always been _very_ good at getting into places I’m not supposed to be.”

 

At the familiar sound of his voice, the other man jerks his head up, sliding his glasses down his nose for a better look as he does.

 

“Zuko!” He springs up from his desk, tossing his glasses down onto it, where they are instantly consumed by the ocean of paper gathered there, face split into a wide grin. His unbridled enthusiasm pulls a soft chuckle from Zuko’s lips.

 

“Hello, Sokka.” He says, voice low and sultry, exaggerated just enough to be teasing. He pushes himself off the wall, striding over and slipping carefully behind Sokka’s desk, his hands finding their way to his hips, pulling him close. Sokka’s fingers trail lightly up Zuko’s forearms, and their eyes meet, pulling warm smiles from both as they drink in the sight of the other.  

 

Zuko has long since gone grey, but silvery strands are only just beginning to show their faces in Sokka’s thick top knot, their brilliance shining through like the finest embroidery whose quality not even the royal dressmakers could match. Zuko brushes a few strays gently behind his husband’s ear, his fingers grazing the soft peach fuzz at his temple, leaning in close, breath whispering against his skin.

 

“Spare a moment for me, my love?” Zuko’s voice drips nectar-sweet, a soft gravel that melts Sokka to his touch like wax.

 

“For you? Anything,” he breathes, tracing soft symbols along the inside of Zuko’s arms.

 

Zuko puts a hand to his cheek gently, rubbing a spot of ink from the edge of his lip with the pad of his thumb, gaze softened by unadulterated adoration. Drawing him close, they sink into a welcome kiss. Sokka has all the warmth and taste of home, his feather-light touch invoking the feeling of a tropical breeze so far from it on this damp autumn night.   

 

Sokka’s hands trail from Zuko’s neck down to his chest, fisting into his robes. Pulling them flush together, he shifts to deepen the kiss, and Zuko surrenders himself to Sokka’s whim, wrapping his arms tight around his waist. As Sokka takes a step back to steady himself, he knocks directly into his desk, accidentally unleashing a monumental avalanche of paper which cascades to the floor with far less noise than such a disaster deserves.

 

Zuko jerks away instantly, staring in horror at the destruction. For a moment, all is silent.

 

“Oh, _spirits_ , Sokka I am _so sorry!_ ”  He drops to the floor, trying his best to gather the scrolls and loose parchment that seem to cover every inch of the floor. Sokka looks on silently for only a moment longer, before erupting into peals of laughter. He puts a hand to the nearest stack of papers still intact and shoves them merrily to the floor. Zuko’s resulting horrified gasp only makes him laugh harder, and the infectious sound soon forces Zuko to smother an embarrassed giggle of his own behind his hand.

 

“ _Spirits_ , would you get up from there, you’re _killing_ me here!” Sokka wipes his watery eyes with the back of his hand, and Zuko rises shamefully from his position kneeling amongst Sokka’s paperwork to hide his face against his husband’s shoulder with a groan.

 

After a few minutes Sokka’s laughter tapers off, and he’s left sitting quietly on his desk, hand woven into Zuko’s hair. “Can I ask what you’re doing here? Other than destroying my office I mean? That much was evident of course,” he murmurs, lips mere inches from Zuko’s ear.

 

“Well, I was _trying_ to take the weekend off and surprise my husband.” Zuko laments, emerging begrudgingly from his hiding place.

 

Sokka looks around him, taking in the terrible mess that litters his floor. “You know something? I think you might have had the right idea.”

 

He hops from his perch, taking Zuko’s hand in his own, stepping carefully through the disaster zone, avoiding the worst of the debris as best he can. As the two exit the office, Sokka’s poor, tortured secretary pops her head through the door, her mouth falling open at the horrible sight.

 

“Oh, Ms. Kim? Why don’t you take the weekend off. You deserve it.” Sokka manages to maintain his composure just long enough to utter his deliverance before being dragged away by Zuko as he bursts out in an awkward, apologetic laugh. She rolls her eyes slightly, exasperated, though still affectionate towards her eccentric but kind boss, and snaps the door shut behind them.

 

Zuko and Sokka walk arm in arm as they retrace the path Zuko took only minutes before, this time with no sense of urgency. They are all too content to simply enjoy each other’s presence.

 

After a minute or two, Sokka breaks the silence. “So, you really left Izumi alone to run the country for a whole weekend, huh? That’s some confidence you have in our daughter.” His tone is serious, but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

 

“Well, to be fair, she’s older now than I was when I took over,” Zuko retorts, affronted. “And certainly a lot smarter than I was at her age,” he admits somewhat reluctantly. “Why, don’t you think she can handle it?”

 

“I’m only _teasing_ babe.” Sokka coos. “Of course she can. And _of course_ she’s smarter than you were at her age. Who wasn’t?”

 

Zuko scoffs, pulling away from Sokka’s hold melodramatically.

 

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” Sokka whines, holding tightly to Zuko’s arm and jogging after him as he feigns an attempt at escape until Zuko relents.

 

“Yeah, you better be.” His exaggerated pout and scowl persist as he grudgingly returns his hand to his husband’s arm. “As if you’re one to talk anyways.”

 

“Alright, alright. Fair enough.” Sokka admits as his own hand comes to rest over Zuko’s. Ducking his head, he manages to catch Zuko’s eye, and as he does his irritated façade crumbles, a smile cracking its way through, and Sokka chuckles as he pulls him in, their brows touching briefly, their lighthearted banter replacing the previously lonesome echoes of the halls with a cheerful warmth.

 

The cobblestones welcome their company to the cool autumn air, by now mostly abandoned by the early evening post-work promenade, leaving their newest companions nearly alone under the low lantern-light. As they make their way through the centre of town, Zuko listens with rapt attention as Sokka recounts his most recent bureaucratic escapades, their otherwise dull happenings made entertaining by Sokka’s antics and flair for the dramatic.

 

They make no rush to any particular destination, allowing themselves the freedom to wander on a whim, but find they are drawn away from the constricting city centre streets into the open night air. As the very last dregs of sunlight drain away, they happen upon the city park, its sudden appearance exquisite as its streams are lit lavender and silver, it’s parkways marking glistening ribbons through verdant luxury.

 

Without hesitation, and without question, the two step deeper into it’s inviting embrace, away from prying eyes and swathed in solitude.  

 

The park’s narrow paths weave about small, grassy hills and around gnarled old trees now beginning to turn those honeyed hues that signal the changing of the seasons. Their branches are laden with plump berries glistening deep purple and the foliage inset with small, wizened, jewel-red fruits, the trees’ own handiwork, accompanied by thousands of tiny paper lanterns, each one laboriously lit. The warm glow of the firelight, profoundly softened by its fragile vessel, reflects off the deep indigo mirror of the nearby streams and ponds, refracting like fireworks in the spray of the bubbling fountains. Gilded lushness blanketed beneath inky blue sky disseminate with striking silver stage the night like a painting of fine brushwork, one to be remembered for the ages.

 

Yet, even as Zuko observes its brilliance, the beauty of the park does little to affect him. Not, indeed, because he does not find it so, but rather, its majesty is merely dwarfed. Just as the moon may not been seen as the sun shines, and a single ember may be lost to the flames, so too is the splendor of this night simply and wholly outmatched. For given the choice a hundred thousand times over, every time Zuko would rather watch as Sokka takes in this flawless sight than experience it himself. The light of a thousand lanterns is reflected like champagne bubbles in those glittering eyes yet still Sokka is more radiant than them all. Greying hair turned to quicksilver, skin lent a bronzed glow, his smile the crown jewel of Zuko’s kingdom. The dying dusk scene merely a shadow play, and Sokka the light.

 

Sokka is a bundle of pent up energy, and to Zuko it’s quite obvious he’s been cooped up in his office for far too long. He half-jogs along the paths and over little foot bridges, laughing and smiling before returning to Zuko’s side and sweeping him up once more, pulling him along behind him. Zuko doesn’t mind. Not one bit. Seeing Sokka, hearing his laugh, holding his warm, calloused hand in his own – they’re the only reasons he left home to travel across the vast ocean to begin with.

 

There’s no real scene to be made of two gentlemen sharing company with the stars, and even if there were, few people are there to see it. Only a small band remains, huddled in a courtyard and sheltered beneath the garden pagoda. Deprived of late-night concert-goers, some begin to pack away their instruments for the night, while others strike up somewhat of a musical banter, lacking in perfection but ripe with heart and warmth as their singer laments his loneliness theatrically in a colourful waltz.

 

The two men draw near, and Sokka pauses for a moment, eyes nearly closed, letting the melody wash over him. Then he turns to Zuko, eyes warm as the autumn sun, begging for the fulfilment of his yearnings.

 

“Zuko,” he breathes, “will you dance with me?”

 

Zuko hesitates. “I don’t know. You know I’ve never been any good at dancing, love.”

 

“That’s alright, don’t worry.” He murmurs. “I’ll lead.”

 

Indeed, the fire nation’s staunch ban on such an art had done Zuko no favours, and in the years since, he had never been quite able to master it the way he so wished he could, even if only for Sokka’s sake. But as Sokka takes his hand, pulling him close at the waist, and he lays his hand against his shoulder, all of that melts away as Sokka leads them in the slow turn of the gentle one-two-three rhythm.

 

As Zuko finds his footing, Sokka dares a playful turn here and there, meeting Zuko wherever he may land, even if it is a little out of step, and Zuko soon finds a shy smile, small at first but not long contained, has once again fought its way to the surface.

 

Sokka doesn’t try anything fancy, but instead lets their steps draw them closer, until the are nearly flush together, his hand resting on the small of Zuko’s back, and Zuko’s fingertips brushing gently against his neck. Dancing this way is difficult, but being this way is effortless.  It’s an intimacy practiced a hundred times a day for decades now, and nearly perfected.

 

They sway silently to the music which, without their notice, has picked up in volume again as its performers notice their admirers, bleeding between songs tailored to their tempo, whose words try and fall short to imagine and describe the kind of love they bare witness to now.

 

They don’t so much as hear the music as feel its intent, their every sense locked up in the ache of their hearts, the brushing of lips, the touch of their palms, fingers laced together. Eyes closed, brows touching, they dance into the night wanting just this.

 

If this was all they had. Just this. Only this. For always and forever. Well then, they couldn’t begin to think of a better way to spend the rest of eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap folks! Sorry this one took me so long, but I'm back home now and back to school, so I guess things are kind of back to normal. And sorry for any spelling errors or what have you, I'll probably go back and edit this later, as well as add a few links to songs I imagine may have been playing during this scene.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking it out with me! As always, I would love to hear from you, and always appreciate your comments and feedback. I have a few ideas for my next works, but I'l be pretty busy with research this year, so stay tuned for further updates!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@backcountry-deltora](https://backcountry-deltora.tumblr.com/)!


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